A/N: It's funny you mention Sugar.. I'm so nervous about writing her, and I honestly am going to try to make it to where Santana doesn't want to rip her head off. We'll see how that goes.
Chapter 13
The choir room at Atherton made the one at McKinley look like a joke. This one was huge, the floor a polished marble, with actual risers in the back instead of a group of chairs. To one side there was a small stage with velvet purple curtains, to practice at. There were chairs, too, and a piano and other assorted instruments. Here, though, we didn't have a group of perpetual jazz band students just hanging around, begging to break into a song with us for whatever lesson we might have that day.
Miss Holiday was a lot different from Mr. Shuester. I noticed that right away. I also noticed that she had a unique relationship with every single girl in the choir room, except me – all of them seemed to know her and absolutely adore her, even Quinn. Quinn had told me tales of her funny but somewhat unbelievable antics during health class. At first I thought she was probably just really, really high. That was the only explanation that made sense. She was admittedly humorous, and random, and weirdly cool because she didn't look at us blankly whenever Twitter was mentioned. She gushed along with one of the girls about her celebrity crush on Taylor Lautner, and teased Joy into a fit of giggles about the boy Miss Holiday thought she was dating from town.
I sat wedged between Quinn and Carla, my legs crossed. I was filing the nails of my right hand for most of the meeting, though what exactly we were meeting about was a bit of a mystery. Mostly Miss Holiday spent the time asking the girls about their summer, their boyfriends, their families, their classes. We didn't talk about music or the fact that sectionals would be in the next five weeks. We didn't do voice warm ups or go through vocal runs. It made me wonder how, exactly, she managed to wrangle in a trophy or two every year with her glee club.
"My father took me to Barbados this summer," Said one girl, with a whiny, nasally voice. I snapped my gaze in her direction, because nobody had been talking to her and she abruptly interrupted everyone. She had that light brownish hair and giant hawk nose, and I tried to remember why she immediately annoyed me. Then I remembered: she was the one who butchered Cher at try outs a few weeks ago. What was her name? Something ridiculous.
The entire room paused, and even I felt the teeniest, tiniest bit sorry for her, because, c'mon, who felt the need to brag about their father's money here? Everyone was staring at her with varying degrees of distaste and I got the impression nobody really liked Sugar, they just tolerated her. Except for Miss Holiday, who smiled warmly at her.
"That's rockin'. Did you meet any cute guys?" She asked, not missing a beat.
"No." Sugar stated, a little mournfully. "I got stung by a jellyfish. It left a huge rash."
Once again, the silence ticked in the room, as if nobody knew how to respond to her. Damn it. I felt myself softening towards her, because, let's admit it, this chick was completely hideously annoying, but something about her sort of reminded me of Brittany. Gag. The thought was slightly repugnant even to me, but there it was.
I glanced at Quinn, trying to read her face. Her brows were knit in a mixture of confusion and disbelief, her eyes sweeping over Sugar and then Miss Holiday and the rest of the room.
"Wanky." I said into the quiet, just to absolve the tension. Quinn looked at me, surprised, and I lifted an eyebrow, shrugging.
Sugar's gaze snapped to me, as if for the first time, and there was an unreadable expression on her face. The one on mine stated simply: don't think too much about it. I wasn't trying to make friends. I just felt sorry for her.
Miss Holiday had had a funny expression on her face, and she seemed like she couldn't keep it in any longer: "You know what they say takes the burn out of jellyfish stings.." Her voice was thick with humor. I grinned, catching on, and so did about half of the room.
Sugar turned her nose up, not appreciating the implication.
"All right ladies, let's get down to business." Miss Holiday said, dragging a chair out from the ones that were in neat rows to place in front of us. I liked that about her. She didn't need to be standing up to keep our attention or to take over authority.
"I want everyone to spend the rest of the week thinking about what songs you want to sing at Sectionals. I'm definitely going through a Beyonce phase right now, so keep it along those tracks." She smiled briefly. I was a bit incredulous. Did she really not care that much, or was Mr. Shue a giant control freak without a flexible bone in his body? I couldn't decide.
I immediately recognized the reason why I was annoyed was because even if Miss Holiday didn't care much about it, I did. And that was something that surprised the hell out of me – I mean, I liked the glee club at McKinley, but that was because it had all my friends in it and it was less about singing and dancing than it was about learning life lessons and sticking together and being a family, yadda-yadda-yadda, all that after school special nonsense. But I was beginning to realize that I did like preforming, and I especially liked winning.
I had to fight down the urge to give Miss Holiday a piece of my mind, because it made me feel like a psychotic controlling Rachel Berry and, uh, no. I'd rather die than have anyone, even myself, compare me to Frodo.
"I want to do Michael Jackson." Sugar interjected. Miss Holiday's eyes slowly rolled over to her, her lips quirked in an unsure expression.
"What song?" She said, and that surprised me. I had expected her to shoot her down.
"I don't know. Billie Jean!" Sugar sounded excited again. I couldn't tell if Miss Holiday was humoring her because she was genuinely interested in doing Michael Jackson, or because she felt like she had to listen to Sugar since her father paid for everything for the show choir.
"I'd rather do Pink." I said, just to see what her response was.
I ignored the surprised looks of the other girls and Quinn, instead staring straight ahead at Miss Holiday.
"Good idea. What song?"
I hadn't expected that, and it threw me off a little bit. "Umm. Sober." It was the first one that popped into my head.
Miss Holiday grinned, as if my answer had had some double meaning – it didn't, really, but now I had myself thinking guiltily about the music video, where Pink is having sex with herself, and it was kind of hot. And I wondered if Miss Holiday could read what I was thinking, and I scowled instead of blushed, because, well, that shit's private and Miss Holiday is some kind of perv.
"Those are all good ideas, girls. Keep thinking. Maybe we'll do a Michael Jackson/Pink mashup." She stood up, and so did the rest of the girls, who all started chattering and gathering up their things.
I was still puzzling over how disharmonious and awful an MJ/Pink mashup would be, wandering towards the door, when I was snapped back to reality by Miss Holiday.
"Hey, Santana? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
I turned to look at her quizzically. I fiddled with the straps of my backpack, standing there awkwardly, waiting for the room to filter of students. Quinn had paused to press her palm against my elbow briefly, and then she too disappeared with the tide of girls.
"I heard you're some kind of Million Dollar Baby," Miss Holiday began, leaning on the wooden podium situated in the middle of the room and clasping her hands in front of her.
I quirked a brow at her, my expression caught between interested and pissed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The blonde teacher smirked. "Just that you decked Millie Birmingham and then got into some bar fight at the Cowboy Monday night." She didn't seem angry or disapproving. No, in fact, it sounded a lot like she approved, which was mega confusing.
"So? Is this going to turn into a lecture?" I lifted my shoulder in a shrug. "Because I'm genuinely not interested in hearing your advice."
Miss Holiday laughed, and gave me a knowing smile, like she thought she knew me. It made me bristle – nothing irritated me more than adults who tried to be buddy buddy for no good reason.
"I didn't think so. But listen up, Hot Lips," She said with a tone of seriousness. "I'm honestly looking forward to you sticking around to perform with us this year. I bet you'll be amazing. So the next time you think about punching the lights outta some mouthy bitch, just try to remember that we're counting on you."
I frowned. That wasn't what I was expecting either. Miss Holiday did seem to care about her Vox club, even though everything about her attitude screamed otherwise.
"All right." I said cautiously. "Can I go now?"
She smiled at me, making the lines around her blue eyes crinkle up. "Sure. See you tomorrow."
I turned and left, still mulling over the brief conversation we'd had. It made me realize what she had been aiming at – that I did have a reason to want to stay here, even if it was as little as competition show choir. I already had Quinn, and the ruthless threat of being shipped off back to the homeland, to motivate me.. but now I was beginning to think that Vox and Miss Holiday would give me additional motivation to avoid putting people in the hospital.
In the deserted hallway, I began walking towards the cafeteria, because I suspected Quinn was there already. If I didn't stop her she'd be getting me some kind of meal full of saturated fat and grease.
"Your name is Santana Lopez, right?" The voice came out of nowhere. Suddenly, that Motta girl was standing next to me. She was tall and gangly and reminded me of a crane. An annoying, loud, squawking crane. I glared at her.
"Yeah. And?" I didn't want to encourage her. She needed to skiddadle.
"My name is Sugar Motta." She smiled at me patronizingly. "I'm going to be your friend."
"Whoa, wait, no." I rounded her abruptly, stopping our forward motion. I poked a finger into her chest, as if to drive the point home: "No, Motta, you're staying far away from me. The sounds flapping from your beak remind me of the mating call of sick ducks. I hate ducks." I said, for emphasis.
Sugar tilted her head, and seemed kind of puzzled. Then she fished around in the giant purse she had flung over her bony shoulder, and came out holding one of those velvet-y boxes which typically contained jewelry. She offered it to me.
"I got you that." She said. I stared at her. Was this chick for real?
"You're unbelievable." I didn't take the box. She shoved it at me anyway, letting go of it, and so I was forced to clutch at it so it didn't fall to the ground.
"Thank me later," Sugar said breezily, and then began walking in front of me, as if I was the one holding her up from her destination.
I entered the dining hall after she did, somewhat horrified to see her making a beeline towards the table that housed Quinn and Carla. I didn't see Joy anywhere. Quinn was looking at Sugar with an irritated expression, and I thought maybe Quinn was going to go all HBIC on her.
Part of me really wanted to watch that, because, let's be honest – angry pixie Quinn is so hot, and I kinda missed her. But then reason overtook emotion, and I started towards them, grabbing Sugar by her shoulder and sitting her down forceful shove. I sat down quickly. It wouldn't have been wise for Quinn to start a scene here, and I didn't want her to ruin her sweet girl image.
I smiled a little apologetically at her, then turned to the brunette beside me. "Listen up, Rita Pavone. You're extraordinarily annoying. Please sit here silently, if you must. If not, go away."
She was studying me with her head cocked to the side again. It only emphasized her hawkish demeanor. "Santana, you're kind of a bitch." She smiled through the words. "I have self-diagnosed Asperger's. I'm a bitch too. We're going to be best friends."
I rolled my eyes at her. "Holy shit, you are dense."
"No, I'm Sugar Motta," She said it slowly, enunciating each word, like maybe she thought I couldn't understand her or something. "You do speak English, right?"
Quinn's mouth dropped open, and my face squinted. I was contemplating wringing her neck and was on the verge of a verbal explosion when Quinn reached over and squeezed my forearm. I just scowled. It seemed like had realized the same thing I did, before, that a confrontation in this setting just wasn't a good idea. Now she was holding me back from going psycho on this Italian girl.
"Besides," Sugar blathered on, digging around inside her purse now, searching for something. "I'm Italian, and you're Mexican, right? We're, like, basically related." She beamed at me.
Even Quinn choked at that, and I felt myself slowly burning into a rage. Part of me felt hopelessly sorry for her because she was clearly an imbecile, but the other part of me just wanted to beat her ass. A lot.
"I am not Mexican," I hissed.
"Santana," Quinn said in a quiet undertone. I turned to her, glaring.
"Is she serious?" I asked, because I couldn't help it. I didn't get the vibe that she was racist or anything, but just incredibly.. offensive. She had no tact, none at all. And if she wasn't so freakishly grating, that's what would remind me of Brittany about her. Britt has a problem with tact and saying things at the right time, but she wasn't abrasive like Motta. Or maybe she was, to some people. But the difference was, I adored Brittany, and I really wanted to throttle Sugar.
"Aha!" Sugar said, oblivious. She pulled out another little package from her purse. I stared at it. It was Mexican candy. "See, I got this for you, too." She slid it across the table to me. "Ole!" She snapped her fingers.
Xxxx
Quinn was laughing hysterically at me when we left the dining hall. I had spent the next half hour showing considerable restraint in not simply decking the loud-mouthed bitch. She kept making Mexican references and speaking in butchered Spanish. It would have been amusing if it hadn't been so freakishly annoying.
"Where did she even buy Mexican candy?" Quinn snickered. She had taken the candy Motta offered, chewing on the taffy and sucking on the lollipops.
"Uh, I don't know. I'm still stunned that she thinks Italians and Mexicans are related." I really was. Who was that damn ignorant?
We walked up to our dorms, Quinn mostly laughing, me just scowling. When we got into the room I began changing into an exercise outfit.
"Hey, can you take me into town? I have orientation at kickboxing." I rolled my eyes. Actually, I really just had to pay for the three months of lessons, sign some paperwork, and meet my instructor. My classes didn't start until Monday.
"Sure," Quinn said musingly, and began to change as well. She noticed the discarded jewelry box that I had placed absently on my computer desk. "What's that?"
"Oh." I frowned at it. "Sugar gave me that. Just, poof, here you go," I said. I hadn't even looked at what was inside of it. I had meant to give it back to her, because it was just weird, but I had forgotten.
Quinn opened the little box without preamble, and nestled there were a set of diamond earrings. Quinn's brow shot up and she turned to look at me, almost accusingly.
My eyes widened and I looked back at her, a little baffled. "What? That bitch is coo-coo."
"Mhm." Quinn tilted her head. "And this is the first time she's ever talked to you?"
"Uhh.. yeah." I frowned, then turned to start brushing my hair out so I could secure it into a tight pony tail.
"Those are really expensive earrings to just be giving to a total stranger." Quinn said neutrally, then set the jewelry down. I turned to look at her, still confused.
"Yeah, she's batty. Nutty. Bonkers. Out of her damned mind." I said. Then it dawned on me.
"Oh, shit," I said around a huge grin, and then I turned to smother her in a big hug. She was caught off guard, and laughed a little lightly in her surprise. "You think I'm cheating on you with bird-beak, Quinn?"
Quinn laughed, startled. "Uh, no, not like you could really cheat on me anyway," She said, prying herself away from me. "I was just beginning to wonder how I measured up, if you were also interested in her."
"Oh, god, Tink, you're almost as batshit as she is." I was smiling huge, because the whole thing was both preposterous and hilarious. "Green is a terrible color on you. Don't worry, there's no other girl at Atherton who can hold a candle to you."
Quinn seemed to preen at this, though she was trying not to show it. She slapped at me. "Let's just get this over with. I have physics homework."
Quinn pulled in front of the little building that offered kickboxing lessons for beginners. She stayed in the car and I hopped out, swinging the glass door open and rushing inside. I walked up to the counter and got the attention of the lady behind the counter. I slapped down my father's credit card. "I need to sign up for three months of lessons."
She set down a packet of paperwork in front of me and I began to fill it out. I felt my phone buzzing against me so I pulled it out.
-Going to get some ice cream. Want any?
It was Quinn. I shook my head slightly. –No way, Blondie.
I was still convinced that she was making it her lot in life to make me fat.
Once I was done filling out the paperwork, I handed it back to the lady. She swiped the card and I signed the receipt. She let me know that they'd be calling me between tomorrow and Monday with a definite instructor and start time.
I left the tiny office, because it was suffocating, and the light outside was really pretty. Autumn was picking up its pace now, and before long it would be October and chilly. I remembered I needed to buy an Atherton jacket. I started wandering around the parking lot, waiting for Quinn to get back, when I suddenly noticed a girl about my age crouched down by something. I realized with faint horror that it was a cat, and it looked pretty dead.
I usually ignore people in these types of situations, but come on, this was her cat. It made me think of Brittany and how devastated she'd be whenever Lord T finally kicked the bucket. I walked over to the girl slowly. She had thin, medium brown hair that fell loosely to her shoulders. I couldn't see her face but I assumed she was upset.
"Hey, are you all right?" I said, a little nervously. She turned to look at me. She had a square face and light blue eyes.
"Yes, I'm fine." Her voice was even and measured. "I found this deceased feline. Do you want to help me dissect it?"
My eyebrows shot up and I took a step back. "Whoa, what? This isn't your cat?"
She shook her head, and I noticed she had latex gloves on. She looked like she had been poking the cat and wanted to pick it up. My stomach did a nauseous roll.
"It was a stray I assume. I'm Brynn Thomas." She went to offer me her hand, and I recoiled.
"Ew, cat guts." I said by way of explanation. She didn't seem bothered by my reluctance to shake her hand though.
"No. Not yet." She said it with a relish that I couldn't understand. There was something so completely weird about her that now I was uncomfortable and I deeply regretted not staying away from me.
"Umm, well, you have fun with that.." I said awkwardly. I turned, searching the road for Quinn's pale green car.
"I can sense your discomfort. My brother tells me that I possess social ineptitude." Brynn said, matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes towards her, and fidgeted.
"I want to be a scientist. I want to dissect the cat to study it," She offered. I nodded, slowly.
"Yeah, that's still kind of freakish," I told her, in all honesty.
"It's entirely rational."
I stared at her. I pulled out my cell phone and started texting. –Holy shit, where are you, Fabray?
-Around the corner, what's the emergency?
I got the message right before I caught sight of her turning in. "That's my ride. I've gotta go." I told the girl.
"Wait!" She said, and took some steps towards Quinn's car. "You go to Atherton, right?"
I nodded mutely. How did she know that?
"Are you going there now?"
I stared. Then nodded again.
"Can you possibly drive me there?"
I gaped at her. And then, as if on automatic, I turned to Quinn and gestured for her to roll down the window. "Uh, this girl wants to know if we can give her a ride to the school." I widened my eyes and shook my head slowly.
Quinn didn't catch on. "Sure. Hop in."
I groaned silently, then opened the door and slid in. Brynn turned and took off her latex gloves, tucking them into a plastic bag. I was just grateful she decided to leave the cat carcass.
Quinn was giving me a puzzled look, but it was too late for me to explain before the girl slid in the back seat.
"So, you go to Atherton?" Quinn asked, lifting her face to regard Brynn's in the rearview.
"Yes." She was short, not offering anything further. Quinn quirked a brow.
"What grade are you in?"
Brynn shifted. "I'm a sophomore. And you aren't a freshman, because you can drive," She said with authority. "But I've never noticed you, so you must be a transfer." She turned to look at me. "Both of you."
Quinn shifted, a little uneasily. "Yes, that's right."
"I know."
I closed my eyes and pressed my head against the headrest. Really, Lopez? You're a freak magnet.
"How did you get into town?" Quinn asked, trying to ease the tension in the car.
"I walked."
Even I started at that. It was a 45-minute drive from the middle of Morrow to Atherton, easy. I couldn't imagine walking that distance, especially not in the hour and a half since classes ended.
"That's crazy." Quinn said.
"No, it's logical." Brynn contradicted.
I rubbed my forehead, deciding it was safer to remain silent. I already knew Quinn was going to be a little peeved at me for letting this creepy girl get into her car.
"What were you doing in town?" Quinn ventured.
"I was collecting feline skeletal specimens."
Quinn snapped her eyes towards me, inclining her head as if to say, what the fuck? Is she serious?
I only nodded slowly, with emphasis.
"Ooohkay.. what for?" Quinn couldn't seem to help herself. I just wanted this whole uncomfortable conversation to stop.
"I intended to dissect them. But the only one I found was still too fresh."
I gagged, and Quinn squirmed uncomfortable.
"Are you talking about roadkill?"
"Well, I'm not certain it died from being struck by a moving vehicle."
Quinn frowned. "Why do you want to dissect dead cats?" She asked slowly.
"To learn." Brynn said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I want to know how it died." She paused. "Also, I'm very fascinated with bones."
Oh, god, this girl was so fucking creepy.
Quinn surprised me by smiling a little bit. "I love bones too. Well, human bones." She said.
I gawked at her, lost for words. Do what? Fairy princess Quinn liked skeletons?
"Eugh, Fabray, that's gross." I said.
"It's not gross." Brynn interrupted. "I intend to study human remains for a living as an adult."
Quinn nodded, not at all put off by this statement. I just stared at her, and then glanced back at Brynn, as if they were both crazy. I felt like I had been kidnapped into an alternate dimension full of weird creepy girls.
"Do you know where the local cemeteries are?" Quinn asked.
Brynn nodded. "Yes."
"Well maybe you can show me sometime. I love cemeteries."
The breath wheezed out of my chest. I felt dizzy and a little lightheaded, like maybe I was going to have a panic attack soon. No freaking way I was going to let Quinn go anywhere with Brynn, at any time, but especially not to a damn graveyard.
We pulled through the gates at Atherton a few minutes later, and Quinn pulled into the parking lot that housed the student cars. I waited for Brynn to get out without saying anything before I turned to Quinn, who had also paused. "Okay, now go park your car somewhere else."
Quinn lifted a brow. "Why..?"
"Um, because if you leave it here, she'll know where it is, and I think she'll try to bomb it or something." I shrugged. That girl had given me the willies.
Quinn laughed. "Stop being crazy, Santana." She turned the car off and opened her door.
I scowled. "Me, crazy? You were buddying up to the girl. She's a total freak."
Quinn smirked at me, tugging on my wrist, and leading me inside.
"What is it about me that attracts crazy people?" I asked her, incredulously. "First there's you, and you're just generally psychotic. Then there's Sugar. And now this unbelievable Brynn girl." I closed my eyes, shaking my head, as we made our way back up the stairs again.
"Don't forget Brittany," Quinn chimed, and it made me scowl.
"She's not even a fraction as crazy as you."
Quinn laughed.
A/N: So I know it's short but it's kind of a filler chapter. Yay for Brynn! Twenty points if anyone can figure out who I based her off of.. and yes it's shamelessly playing on Dianna's real life obsession with bones, but I think it's cute and would be fun to write into Quinn's character. I have some pretty good ideas about what to do with it.